“Or a dog,” suggested Louisa: “just look how the vulgar old man is making signs to us to come off the ice.”
“He may shout himself hoarse, and flourish away till his arms ache,” said Vincent, “we’ll stop here as long as we choose. Just come along this way, Louisa.”
Again, as the young Effinghams turned their steps towards the further shore of the Serpentine, again came that loud, warning halloo. It was not unheard, but it was unheeded. Then Louisa stopped short, trembling violently—there was a sudden crash—shriek—splash—and on the spot where Clemence had a moment before beheld the two well-known forms on the surface, with horror she could distinguish nothing but a black pool of water, with an ill-defined margin of broken, jagged ice around it!
Her cry of anguish mingled with the short, stifled scream of the miserable Louisa. Captain Thistlewood uttered no exclamation; before his niece could realize what was passing beside her, he had flung his great-coat at her feet, and, with the instinct of generous humanity, was darting across the ice to the place where the Effinghams had disappeared! He reached it while the air-bubbles were yet floating on the surface of the fatal pool, and plunged in without an instant’s hesitation. Clemence’s cries for help were bringing speedy assistance, but they seemed to be unconsciously uttered. Almost petrified with terror, she stood on the shore, watching with straining eyes and blanched cheek that dark spot fraught with such fearful interest.
There is a hand grasping the ice!—yes!—no! the brittle substance has broken under the drowning grasp—yet there it is again! and now—oh, thank Heaven! a dripping head emerges!—then another!—a boy, supported by a strong arm, his hair hanging in wet strands over his face, is clinging, scrambling, on to the surface of the ice! Clemence stretches out her arms, and, impelled by an irresistible impulse, springs forward several paces on the frozen Serpentine, but is stayed by the firm grasp of one of the spectators.
“He has dived again!—fine fellow! he is saving the lady!” cried many voices. “Where are the officers of the Humane Society? Ah, here they come! here they come! God speed them!” and, with a rumbling, rushing sound, the machine on skates, invented by ingenious humanity to rescue the drowning from death, is pushed rapidly on to the spot, and plunged into the dark hole on whose brink, in an agony of apprehension, now stands the shivering, gasping, dripping Vincent.
Moments appear hours to Clemence—all power of uttering a sound is gone—the voices around her seem rather as if heard in the confusion of a horrible dream, than as if actually striking upon her waking sense. Oh, that it were but a dream!
“They can’t find ’em!—they must have floated under the ice,—got entangled in the weeds!—’twill be too late—too late to save them!” Then suddenly a loud, glad cheer burst from the excited spectators, as a senseless form, with its wet garments clinging closely around it, and long, clotted tresses streaming unconfined by the crushed and dripping bonnet, was lifted triumphantly out of the water.
“She’s saved! she’s saved!” shouted a hundred voices; “but the brave fellow!—the gallant old man!—they’ll never recover him alive!”
Clemence remained as if rooted to the spot, her lips parted, her hands clasped, her soul gushing forth in one inarticulate prayer. Louisa was carried to the society’s receiving-house, a large crowd accompanying her to the door; but Clemence was not in the crowd. Vincent, likewise, would not stir from the spot while the officers were redoubling their efforts to find the body of the captain. Wringing his hands, the boy, with passionate entreaties, promises, even tears, sought to stimulate the exertions of any one and every one who could lend a hand to rescue his brave preserver! After a space—a space, alas! how fearfully long—the ice having been broken in various directions, and the drag let down again and again, a heavy body was raised to the surface. There was not the faintest sign of life in it, though the cold hand yet firmly grasped a fragment of a black lace veil, such as Louisa had worn on that fatal morning! Clemence read no hope on the faces of the experienced men who lifted the body on the ice; but in that terrible moment she neither trembled nor wept. Grasping eagerly at the last chance of restoring life to the inanimate frame, struggling to keep down the feeling of despair which was wrestling in her heart, she hastened with the bearers of the body to the receiving-house, which was not far distant. Clemence was met on the way by her own servant, the one who had followed Vincent and his sister to the park.